Home at Last: An Acadian Journey

By Ollie Porche Voelker

In 1755, an Acadian family is forced to leave Nova Scotia and must relocate in the American colonies in this sweeping historical novel.

For years, England and France have fought for control of Nova Scotia, called Acadie by the French settlers. The Acadians, who are of French origin, have remained neutral and live in peace while still remaining loyal to France. But that is all about to change.

In 1754, the new English lieutenant-governor orders the Acadians to sign an oath promising to fight with England against France. Eleven-year-old Pierre Martin and his family watch as many of their neighbors relocate to French-controlled lands rather than take the oath. But the Martin family stays put, and its not long before English soldiers burst into their home, search it, and seize their guns.

Now, all men and boys aged ten and over are ordered by the English military commander to attend a meeting. Pierre and his father are shocked when they are imprisoned and told they will be deported from their homes. A month later, Pierre and his family must board ships bound for the American colonies.

Once in Maryland, the Martins survive eleven years of hardship, hunger, and discrimination. Always holding on to hope, however, they eventually make their way to Louisiana. But after all their losses, can they finally find happiness in this new land?

Your story is lively and touching and it will, I hope, foster amongst its readers a feeling of pride towards their Acadian and Cajun heritage and history.
Maurice Basque, scientific advisor, Institut dtudes Acadiennes, Universit de Moncton, Moncton, New Brunswick, Canada

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inspiring Voices
• Release date: Oct 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781462403608

Ollie Porche Voelker

Ollie Porche Voelker is a retired teacher and educational diagnostician whose interest in genealogy led her to write Home at Last. She is a descendant of several Acadian families who were deported from Nova Scotia. She lives with her husband in Destrehan, Louisiana, a suburb of New Orleans.

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Copyright © 2012 Ollie Porche Voelker

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ISBN: 978-1-4624-0361-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4624-0360-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012918335

Inspiring Voices rev. date: 10/18/2012

Contents

Acknowledgments

Part One Nova Scotia, Canada Summer–Fall 1755

Chapter 1 English Soldiers

Chapter 2 Trouble with the English

Chapter 3 Bad News

Chapter 4 More Bad News

Chapter 5 The Story of the First Acadians

Part Two Prisoners September-October 1755

Chapter 6 Terrible News

Chapter 7 A Difficult Decision

Chapter 8 Waiting

Chapter 9 Boarding the Ships

Part Three The Ships October-November 1755

Chapter 10 Nothing Left

Chapter 11 Another Prison

Chapter 12 Hunger

Chapter 13 Sickness

Chapter 14 Pleasant Memories and Promises

Chapter 15 Journey’s End

Part Four Maryland Winter 1755–66

Chapter 16 Land at Last

Chapter 17 A New Friend

Chapter 18 A Place to Live

Chapter 19 More Changes

Chapter 20 Faith

Chapter 21 Hope

Chapter 22 Making Plans

Chapter 23 Traveling Farther from Home

Part Five Louisiana 1766–69

Chapter 24 Louisiana, not Louisiane

Chapter 25 Land Grants

Chapter 26 New Friends

Chapter 27 Helpful Neighbors

Chapter 28 Taming the Land

Chapter 29 Everyone Works

Chapter 30 Planting

Chapter 31 Strange Creatures

Chapter 32 Get-Togethers

Chapter 33 A New House

Chapter 34 Grand’maman

35 Another Difficult Decision

Part Six Epilogue: A Good Life 1769–85

Epilogue A Good Life

Afterword

Chronology

Pronunciation Guide and Glossary

Bibliography

About the Author

For my husband, Bill

Our children

Cynthia Voelker Bonis and her husband, Stan Bonis

Eric Voelker

Heidi Voelker

Kathryn Voelker Walker and her husband, Steve Walker

And grandchildren

Brynn Davis

Blaine Bonis

Tess Davis

Annie Bonis

Ethan Walker

Rhett Davis

Kaitlin Walker

With love

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to Maurice Basque, scientific advisor at the Institute of Acadian Studies at the University of Moncton in Moncton, New Brunswick, and Michelle Johnson, curator/director of the Acadian Memorial in St. Martinville, Louisiana, who read my manuscript for historical accuracy. Thanks to the people who patiently and willingly answered my many questions—especially Chris Bonura at the Port of New Orleans; Roger Sevigny, historian at the Historic Site in Grand Pré, Nova Scotia; Rene Schmit, county agent of St. Charles Parish; and the tour guides at Destrehan Plantation. If there are any errors, they are mine. Either I misinterpreted the facts or didn’t ask the right questions.

Special thanks to the members of my critique groups—Carol Ashley, Judy Creekmore, Renelle Folse, Carole Ford, Regina Gautreaux, Jodie Harris, and Candy Olson—for their friendship, help, encouragement, and careful reading of my manuscript.

Thanks to my husband, Bill, who read several drafts, and also to Marlene Walker and my former coworkers Diana Richards and Sharon Dowty, who proofread an early draft. To my daughter Heidi and granddaughter Tess who helped to make my dream come true with their illustrations.

To the faculty and staff of the Institute of Children’s Literature in West Redding, Connecticut, who initially accompanied me down this path.

To my children, grandchildren, family, and friends for their support, encouragement, and belief that I could reach my goal.

And to everyone else who encouraged me along this journey.

Part One

Nova Scotia, Canada

Summer–Fall 1755

01%20Map%20of%20Acadia.jpg

1

English Soldiers

Nova Scotia, Canada, Summer 1755

The pounding on the door grew louder and louder. Men shouted and kicked the door. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but they sounded like the sailors who often came to Grand Pré in their trading ships. My eight-year-old brother, Michel, and I jumped out of our bed in the dark loft and peered down the steps. Four soldiers in English uniforms rushed into the house with their guns drawn when Papa opened the door.

I couldn’t breathe. I was afraid they would hear my heart pounding. Michel shivered as he pressed his body against mine. I held him close while the soldiers dashed around the room, knocking furniture over, looking under mattresses, and throwing clothes around. They found Papa’s two muskets and then raced to the barn behind the house.

"Since you refuse to fight with us, you won’t be able to fight against us," yelled the last soldier to leave the house, mixing enough French words with his English for us to understand him.

My poor maman’s neat house was a mess, and we all shook with fright. My four-year-old brother, Jacques, and my little sisters, Brigette and Anne, held tightly to Maman, who stood near the fireplace. Our clean clothes were scattered everywhere. Mattresses leaned against the beds. Wherever we walked, our shoes crunched on broken dishes, and we tracked flour across the floor. Papa ran outside but hurried back carrying another gun.

"The soldiers ran toward Grand-père’s house when they left our barn, said Papa. Luckily, they didn’t find this musket. I hid it under a floorboard in the barn so I can get to it quickly when I’m working in the fields, to protect our animals from foxes and coyotes. I planned to give this one to you, Pierre, because you’ve been working harder and helping more in the fields lately. But I’ll have to keep it until I can get another one for myself."

Instead of going to work in the fields right after breakfast the next morning, we met our neighbors in front of the village church. People stood in small groups, talking in whispers. They kept looking around as if they were afraid of someone or something.

The men were dressed in linen shirts, knee-length pants, long socks, and straw hats. The women wore blouses and long skirts in shades of tan and brown. Bonnets covered their dark hair. The children were dressed like their parents. Everyone wore moccasins or wooden shoes.

A tall man, M. (Monsieur) Landry, stood on the church steps. Everyone gathered close to listen to him. The soldiers raided all of our houses during the night and took our guns, he shouted. A few weeks ago, they took our boats. What are we going to do about it?

Move away like many of our neighbors did a few years ago. They’re now living peacefully in lands controlled by the French, our neighbor M. Thibodeau answered.

But this is our land. Our people have lived here for 150 years, said Papa. We worked hard to build our homes and farms.

We’ll meet again to decide what we will do, said M. Landry. Go home now, think about it, and pray.

After supper the next evening, we walked through our apple orchard to Grand-père’s house. Just as we arrived, an English soldier in white breeches, a bright red coat, and a three-cornered hat brought a letter from Lieutenant-Governor Charles Lawrence. My orders are to go to every house in Grand Pré to read this letter. You’d better listen if you know what’s good for you. He read in French, Acadians who still have guns will be punished. All guns are to be brought to the village and turned over to the English soldiers.

Papa went home to get the musket that was supposed to be mine. He had taught me how to shoot two years earlier, when I was nine, but he often told me I would have to be more responsible before I could have my own gun. He always said, Pierre, you spend too much time daydreaming and not enough time working.

When he came back with the gun, Papa said, I’m sorry, Pierre. I’m afraid of what they will do to our family if I don’t give them this gun too.

My heart sank, but I couldn’t argue. One look at his face and I knew he was as upset as I was. I choked back my tears. Since he thought I was old enough to have my own gun, I couldn’t let him see me cry. Don’t worry, Papa. They’ll give them back soon.

I hope you’re right, Pierre.

Our neighbors turned in many more guns over the next few days.

The men in our village met to choose several people to write a letter to Lieutenant-Governor Lawrence. Please give our guns back, they wrote. We need them for protection from wild animals. We don’t use our guns to shoot people.

Fifteen men traveled to Halifax, the capital of Nova Scotia, to meet with the lieutenant-governor. For the next few weeks, everyone in Grand Pré waited for the men to return so we could hear the lieutenant-governor’s answer.

Whenever we finished working in the fields, my cousin Jean and I spent our free time talking about the adventures we hoped to have in a few years. We sat in the orchard under our favorite apple tree, where we could look way out over the fields sloping down to Minas Basin. In the summer, we ate pears, and in the fall, we crunched on juicy apples as we daydreamed.

We spent many happy hours talking about sailing to faraway lands on a great sailing ship. Ships came to Grand Pré from Louisbourg and the English colonies in America. We liked to watch the sailors unload and load their goods for trading. The sailors who spoke French talked to us as they worked.

When we sail from Louisbourg to the English colonies, said one sailor, we see nothing but sky and water for days at a time.

Another said, Sometimes in Louisbourg, we meet men who sailed all the way across the immense ocean from France. You should be sailors, boys.

No one in our family had ever left Grand Pré. Most people were born, lived, and died in the same area. The sailors’ stories were so exciting that Jean and I wanted to sail and have great adventures.

As I walked to the fields after breakfast one morning, I turned when I heard the sound of running footsteps behind me. Jean shouted, Pierre! He stopped to catch his breath before he could talk. He looked like every other Acadian boy with his dark brown hair and the way he dressed, but his impish grin and sparkling eyes made him special.

Pierre, come on! Hurry! A trading ship just sailed into Grand Pré. Let’s watch the sailors unload it.

Past our golden wheat fields, the water in Minas Basin sparkled in the sun. The ship’s white sails fluttered in the breeze as I hurried to follow Jean.

A sailor who spoke French asked, "Quel age as tu?" (How old are you?)

"Près de douze ans" (Almost twelve), said Jean, standing tall and straight.

You’re old enough. We’ll need two ship’s boys when we sail next week, said the sailor.

What does a ship’s boy do? I asked.

He’s the timekeeper on the ship. He also helps the sailors—with the sails, fixing meals, and keeping the ship clean. You’ll visit faraway lands. Come back in a week if you want to sail with us.

This is our chance. We can learn to be sailors. Jean hopped and skipped as I walked to the fields to start our day’s work. "That’s a lot more exciting than being a farmer. And